


Oh The Things I Would Do For You

by Spoodlemonkey



Category: New Blood (TV)
Genre: Boys are adrenaline junkies, Fluff and Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Season/Series 01, Sex, Trouble magnet Stefan, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 13:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13272780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/pseuds/Spoodlemonkey
Summary: Rash can’t leave Stefan alone for five minutes.





	Oh The Things I Would Do For You

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray in New Blood and it's characters so apologies if they're OOC but I absolutely adore the boys and the series and couldn't help but dive in when this popped into my head at like midnight last night...any mistakes are my own and not British so any Canadianisms that slip in...think of them as Easter eggs? Kudos are absolutely amazing if you enjoy this fic and feel free to come and celebrate how amazing the boys are in the comments with me!

Rash can’t leave Stefan alone for five minutes. 

They split up; all they know is that the office they’re looking for is somewhere on the second floor. Rash goes left, Stefan goes right and he tries to ignoring the rising anxiety at letting him out of his sight. Things tend to go  _ extremely _ pear shaped when he does. It’s night, the office lights off as he moves silently down the hallway, footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting. His search turns up nothing, no office, no computers, nothing for them to get enough information to take down the smuggling ring that has brought their cases together yet again. 

_ Nothing on my end any luck _ , he sends Stefan a quick text, heading back the way he came. If it’s not at his end Stefan must be having more luck than him. They’re running on limited time here, the night guard starting up his post will be far more alert than the day shift they managed to squeak by. There’s no text back which means Stefan has either found it and is neck deep in hacking through their servers to find what they need or something else has happened.

Or Stefan has his head in the clouds and Rash is worrying for literally  _ nothing _ . 

He might have to kill the blond if that’s the case.

It’s a daily threat he’s so far failed to follow through on. One of these days though…

The elevator chimes as he’s passing it by, shining chrome doors sliding open to reveal two  _ very _ menacing looking thugs standing there. They look a little surprised to see him, as surprised as they can with faces like a bulldog, but recover fast enough reaching into their jackets a split second later. 

“ _ Shit _ .”

 

::

 

Two minutes later he’s left them in a heap in the elevator. The chrome doors open and close over and over, unable to fully shut because of the thick leg sticking out of them. Rash, panting, winded and more than fed up with how the night is going palms one of the guns, tosses the other in a nearby bin for later if needed and hurries down the hall where he sent Stefan. There still hasn’t been any answering text. 

If  those thugs knew he was prowling around up here, chances are they knew about Stefan too. 

The buildings quiet this time of night, cleared out when the work day ends so the shadier side of the business can be conducted. He’s grateful for the thick carpet that muffles his movements, tries to calm his breathing, his heart pounding in his ears. Raised voices filter out from a room towards the end of the hall. He’s got his mobile in his pocket, thinks about calling it in, but he’s not keen on explaining  _ how _ they got in in the first place. His boss has been (fairly) lenient in the past but he’s been toeing the line for awhile now. 

Stefans going to get him fired  _ again _ .

If he doesn’t get them killed first.

He has basic training with firearms, he has to to work as a DC. It hadn’t been his favourite part of the job but he’d passed with flying colours, enough that even  _ Sands _ had been grudgingly impressed-- before picking at him for the way the instructor had chatted him up throughout it to make up for it. He’s just glad that Detective or not, Sands hasn’t picked up on his  _ type _ . Pretty redheads don’t quite fit the bill. 

Unfortunately annoying blonds seem to. 

The door to the office is cracked open enough that Rash can see two men similar in stature to the pair he’d run into. Beefy, thick, and above all,  _ slow _ . One of them has Stefan in a headlock, his face red from the pressure, from the arm across his windpipe. His jumper is rucked up as the other man just teases the soft pale skin of his stomach with a lethal looking knife. 

“Are you going to tell us why you’re sneaking around here?” Their accents are thick, rough like the South of England. Hired thugs playing at security. The guy with the knife has his back to Rash as he comes through the door, gun up, arms steady despite the fear pumping through his veins in place of blood. He schools his face even as Stefan spots him, eyes wide, mouth falling open as he starts to struggle in earnest.

Rash wishes he would  _ stay still _ and not provoke the angry man with the knife. 

“Drop it,” he puts on his best authoritative DC voice. The thug with the knife spins around comically, eyes wide in shock at his sudden appearance. He doesn’t drop the knife but its no longer pressed against Stefans belly. It’s a small victory but one nonetheless. “Police, hands where I can see them.” 

“No one called you,” His eyes narrow as he takes in Rash’s jumper and jeans, flickering to the silencer still screwed onto the gun in his hands. Certainly not a police certified hand weapon either. His gaze goes to Stefan, a cruel grin spreading across his face. “You’re with this one then.”

“Don’t make me tell you again,” Rash ignores him. The thug holding Stefan has loosened his grip at least unsure of what's happening, and some of the red is fading from Stefan’s face. “Drop the knife, hands behind your head.” 

“I don’t think you’re a copper at all.”

“Drop the knife and I’ll get out my warrant card out and show you.” 

“Nah,” the thug grins, showing off a set of crooked teeth. It’s not a very pleasant smile, promising them pain. Rash tenses despite himself. The thug waves the knife at Stefan, just barely nicking him and the blond sucks in a breath, trying to get away from it. The man behind him is following his lead, tightening his grip again. “I think I’ll just gut the both of you. Two less loose ends to worry about.” 

And in that moment Rash  _ knows _ that he’s going to slice Stefan open, that he’ll have to watch as his best friend bleeds out before him when he could have done something. 

So he does. 

There should be a loud  _ bang _ . His ears should be ringing with it. It should be more  _ monumental _ . But it’s not. 

The safety’s off, has been since he stepped into the office- only take the safety off when you’re prepared to fire the weapon and he had been, even if he hadn’t known until that moment. In that moment he knows he would do it over and over again if only for Stefan. 

The trigger barely offers any resistance. He  could aim for the leg or the arm but it’s too risky. Central mass, two neat bullets. It’s as easy as breathing.

The knife slips from numb fingers, he lets out an odd whistling sound, he must have hit a lung. Nausea roils in his stomach but he ignores it. The thug hits the floor and he’s gone. 

_ Shit _ . He swallows hard. 

His gaze shifts to the remaining thug.

“Let him go.” His voice is steady, cold even. It surprises him. He sucks in a breath and begs this man to just give in, to not make this any harder than it is. 

He nods his head in a sharp, jerking motion and abruptly lets Stefan go, taking two quick steps back. 

Stefan drops like a marionette that’s had its strings freshly cut. His knees hit the carpet, scant inches from the spreading pool of blood and he scurries back, panic making his motions jerky, uncoordinated. He nearly bumps into the remaining thugs legs in his haste to get away.

“Stefan.” He keeps his voice level, calm but commanding. Stefan’s head snaps up, eyes wide and bright, like Rash is the only one left in the room and it’s in that moment that Rash starts to have an inkling of how much power he holds over the other man. Despite  _ everything _ it’s a heady rush. “Come here. Behind me.” 

Stefan hurries to comply and it’s not until he’s tucked safely behind Rash that he addresses the thug again.

“Turn around. Hands against the wall.” 

Stefans hands come up and tangle in the back of his jumper, stretching it as he twists them into the fabric. His breathing is loud and harsh against the back of Rash’s neck. 

“We’re going to have to call this in, aren’t we?” 

“Yeah,” Rash sighs. He’s got no clue how he’s going to explain this to his boss. Or how he’s going to keep his job. So far they have a dead body, three gangsters for hire and nothing to show for it. 

“Good thing I got what we came for then, huh?” 

He twists, careful to keep the gun trained on the man against the wall. Panic is fading fast from Stefan, tenson seeping from his frame. Amusement and wonder curl his smile, light up his eyes and he keeps himself well within Rash’s space. There really isn’t anything that can keep him down for long. 

And maybe that’s why Rash can feel his answering grin, despite the smoking gun, his soon to be unemployment, the knife that had been pressed against Stefan’s pale skin. His gaze is drawn to how red Stefans lips are, the sly curl to them and there’s nothing he wants more than to press his own to them, to lick into his mouth and take and take and take. 

He clears his throat, tears his gaze away but not before spotting the answering heat in Stefan's eyes.

“Do me a favor and call it in yeah?”

“Where’s your mobile?”

“Where’s yours?” 

“It got crunched by those two.” He nods at the man against the wall who's now peering back at them looking vaguely worried. Rash rolls his eyes and but stands still as Stefan slides long fingers into his front pocket, grabbing Rash’s mobile but also copping a bit of a feel along the way. Stefan smiles innocently at him as he calls it in, but his free hand stays twisted up in Rash’s jumper, holding him close and his gaze never strays to the body on the floor. 

 

::

 

They don’t get back to the flat until nine the following morning. They’ve been checked out by paramedics, by police, by his own boss, by Stefan’s boss, by everyone and any one who wants to get their lumps in. 

But at the end of it, they still have their jobs. 

He’s just not allowed back at his for awhile. 

“Have to investigate the shooting,” Sands tells him while he’s hovering near Stefan perched in the back of an ambulance, charming the pants off the medic checking him out. Rash refuses to feel jealous. He tries at least. “You two just don’t make anything easy do you?”

It’s a rhetorical question. He doesn’t rise to the bait, answers where he needs to, anything to hurry along the process so they can get  _ home _ . His skin is feeling too tight, too vulnerable like he needs a wall against his back, somewhere he knows nothing can touch them. 

And now that they’re there he’s a little lost as to what to do.

He’d  _ killed _ tonight. 

He’d intentionally taken a life and would do it again. 

If only for the ones he loves. 

And that’s a scary thought, isn’t it? That Stefan had slid in under his radar, had spent so long driving him absolutely  _ crazy _ that he’d missed when they’d become something more.

“Want a cuppa?” Stefan toes off his shoes, a dazed look in his eyes. He’d kept up the banter all the way back, kept up that he was  _ fine _ , but now that it’s just them Rash can see the bags under his eyes, the bruises around his throat, knows there are a few sliver thin marks under his jumper that will be gone in no time but the memories will last.

“No.” he doesn’t want a cuppa. He wants to go back to put his fist through those thugs faces for  _ touching _ Stefan when he doesn’t belong to them, when he belongs to-

_ Shit _ .

He scrubs a hand over his face, can’t quite believe he’s doing this. The blinds are wide open showing off the morning London skyline, bathing the living room in a soft glow as he settles into the couch.

“Stefan,” he calls and if he had any questions, they’re answered by the way the other man's head whips around at the tone of his voice, steady, commanding. His eyes are wide, plush lips just barely parted and Rash  _ aches _ . “Come here.”

The blond hesitates for a brief moment and Rash thinks maybe this is too much, maybe this is more than he’s willing to give, but then he surges into movement, all uncoordinated limbs, lips curling up, just enough. He hovers next to Rash like neither of them are sure what to do next and then, with more grace than he’s expecting, Stefan drops to his knees. 

Rash sucks in a sharp breath but there’s a smile pulling at Stefan’s lips, growing broader when he reaches out, traces the curve of his jaw, the line of his cheek, the softness of his lips. He can’t help but meet the smile with his own and it’s as natural as breathing to lean in, to press their lips together as Stefan tilts his head back. Their lips slide together, igniting a fire in his belly, chasing away the cold that has clung to him like a phantom since the office. He licks his way inside Stefans mouth, chasing the heat and the taste, until he isn’t sure where one of them ends and the other begins. And when his lungs are screaming for air he pulls back just far enough to rest their foreheads together, noses brushing, breathing each other's air.

“Tell me what you want.” Stefan shudders at the command, presses a quick kiss to his lips, once, twice, until Rash pulls back far enough that he has to answer.

“You.” He breathes, whines, pouts when Rash just huffs out a laugh. With some urging he gets Stefan up on the couch, in his lap and it’s perfect. With one hand he cups Stefan’s jaw, angles him where he likes him and the other he slides up under his jumper, feeling the soft, smooth skin there, the way Stefan shivers at his touch, sucks in a breath when he finds a ticklish spot. He memorizes them all, everything and anything Stefan will give him. 

Stefan gets their buttons undone, boxers out of the way, wraps them both in his big hands and then its skin on skin and it’s  _ glorious _ .

It’s no surprise that neither of them last very long, clinging to each other, no longer kissing just panting into each other mouths as they spill all over each other. 

Stefan seems pretty content to stay curled up in Rash’s lap, hanging out of his pants, but he’s heavy and it’s been a long day and an even longer night so he gets them up, stripped down and into Rash’s bed in short order. 

Stefan likes to cuddle apparently, curling into Rash’s body as soon as he’s settled but Rash couldn’t find it in him to complain if he tried. The steady rise and fall of Stefan's chest is soothing, chasing away the darkness that threatens to creep in once he’s let his walls down. 

“Where on earth did you manage to get a gun?” Stefan yawns, reminding Rash of his own exhaustion. 

“Nicked it off those other two I ran into.” 

Stefan hums, eyes closed, eyelashes like dark smudges against his cheeks. Even with the curtains shut its still bright enough for him to make out the little details he doesn’t normally let himself take in, doesn’t let himself memorize. He’s allowed to this time. 

His eyes flicker open a moment later, brow scrunching. 

“How did you manage to knock them out?”

Rash clears his throat, tugs Stefan tighter and brings a hand up to smooth out his face. 

“Used a metal bin.” He grins at Stefans laughter and thinks how lucky he is that they still have this, have this humor, despite what has happened. 

“Brilliant.” Stefan whispers against his collarbone. He brushes a kiss against Rash’s skin. Heat blooms from the brief touch and Rash hides his smile in Stefans unruly curls. The nightmares, the inquiries, it’s all worth it if he gets to keep Stefan safe, by his side. 

If he gets to have this. 

 


End file.
